Steve Jarina

Lines + Images
Email:jarinastephanie@yahoo.com

Hi.: What happens if you fall in love with a writer?

karenfelloutofbedagain:

Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or…

I have been off tumblr for a while now, since I get too emotional when I am on it. Until today, that is, I was a little provoked. And I am happy to say that I am not anymore taking shit for what happened. This will be the last time I am going to open up about the break up.

Note: I am in good terms with my ex- and his family. Very good terms. I have no words on how amazing they are.

Once and for all, I am truly happy with my life right now. I am blessed.

Friends, people do move on.

Even from a long-term relationship.

I am single. My ex- no longer is.

Does that matter?

Do I feel any pressure to be in a relationship soon?

Do pigs fly?

Does that answer your question?

Good.

Life does not stop for heartbreaks.

Get into deep with the pain, hurt and the overall torture of a broken heart.

Every. Single. Day.

Trust me, going through the agony helps in the healing process.

Then you will be surprised, just as I was,

how one day, you will see life is beautiful.

You are beautiful.

Rise and walk away from the past.

Let it be a part of you, as there is no escape from it,

but never let it define you.

miyaaw: untilyourlungscollapse: nedhepburn: This one time I painted a living room with a girl. This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that. But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more. Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail. That’s what love is. Attention to detail. And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes. But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones. But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more: One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile. And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end. Arguably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read on tumblr. Had to reblog for reference. So beautiful.  I remember.

miyaaw:

untilyourlungscollapse:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

Arguably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read on tumblr.

Had to reblog for reference. So beautiful. 

I remember.

(via banawe)

apreaal: margsprysz: A donor heart beating in a mechanical system which keeps it warm, oxygenated, with nutrient enriched blood pumping through. Awesome shit. i wanna see this in person one day ..

apreaal:

margsprysz:

A donor heart beating in a mechanical system which keeps it warm, oxygenated, with nutrient enriched blood pumping through.

Awesome shit.

i wanna see this in person one day ..

(Source: milesian, via fashi0nistaah)

Thank you, 2011, for all the lessons about life, trust, friendship, finance, family and relationships.

The last three months as a student was the best.

Then, a few days after graduation, some of my closest college friends went on a month-long backpacking trip.

Tried local dishes from all over Luzon.

Saw the beautiful perfect cone of Mt. Mayon.

Set foot in one of the 7 Wonders of the World.

Literally dipped my Chuck Taylors in Banaue Rice Terraces mud.

Witnessed the beauty of unpolluted sunrise in Kiltepan, Sagada.

Surfed the waves of La Union.

Found peace and untouched serenity in the Mystical Island of Siquijor.

Spent a night on a banca, sailing through the river, in the darkness,

with only the lights from fireflies, the full moon and Jupiter.

Tried the different versions of Halo-halo in Luzon, Siquijor and Palawan.

Back in Cebu, mid-year 2011, went into full-transition in a snap.

I was the worst time to be alone.

And yet, there I was, literally, alone. In the truest sense of the word.

Lost friendships but gained them back in the last quarter.

New set-ups understood.

Shaved all of my hair off.

Learned discipline in business from different industries.

Met new people.

Read more books.

Friendships accepted.

Set goals for the next 7 years.

Saw a new perception of myself through the lens of a good friend photographer.

Appreciated the fact that your family will always be there for you no matter what.

And at the end of the day, loving a person is a choice you make.

It is not something you leave to destiny.

Nor is it something you force yourself into.

You fall.

You love. Unconditionally.

And you decide whether to go on or leave.

Every. Single. Day.

And here I am right now.

Renewed my faith through my own efforts.

Struggled to adjust to new environments.

Cuts and bruises no more.

I have scars from the year that was.

But I made it out just fine, if not, a better human being.

Best thing I learned in 2011?

How to love.

Ice Cream

As ironic as it may seem, you will never really know how the whole of universe conspires to give you the sweetest Christmas sans a special someone.

Empty (for lack of better word) is pretty much the most fitting word to describe how I have been feeling for months now. In reference to Chapman’s The Five Love Languages, my love tank has been left open for the longest time which eventually led to drought. And when no one fills your love tank, you are forced to fill it yourself, which I have not done for the longest time. Someone else has been doing the job for me. I have been consciously depending on another human to give me love, than for it to come from me.

Lately, I am getting used to it. I am not sure if the path I am treading is, in fact, the correct one. But I feel so much better now. I feel so much more comfortable being by myself. I feel happier. Not yet at the finish line, but I am closer to it than ever.

To plunge down into the abyss;

No harness,

No safety net,

No rope to take hold of once you think you are losing control.

To take all of the darkness in, in its absolute purest form.

Numb and calloused.

To wake into the absence of light.

No longer searching.

No longer wanting.

A little tired of waiting.

Shameless self-gratification.

Just for the sake of it.

LOVE

To love and be loved in return is the greatest thing.

But it is not a fairy tale.

Don’t look for someone who will sweep you off your feet.

He won’t.

Instead, he will be the best friend you will ever have.

He might come.

And in the end, you might not end up together.

But love happened.

And you can say that,

for once in your life,

love happened.

Have patience, young one.

A tear ran down my left cheek No, I don’t take pictures of myself when I’m bored. I sketch. And I know it looks like a sketch of a criminal. I could do that as my day job.

A tear ran down my left cheek

No, I don’t take pictures of myself when I’m bored.

I sketch.

And I know it looks like a sketch of a criminal.

I could do that as my day job.